


ripongo il cor nella leal tua man

by solraneth



Category: Don Carlos - Friedrich Schiller, Don Carlos | Don Carlo - Verdi/du Locle/Méry
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jealousy, M/M, and tons of other complicated feelings, because this sure is one, but also i haven't found a tag that fits this one, fucked up father/son relationships maybe?, i guess?, is there a tag for fucked up families?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solraneth/pseuds/solraneth
Summary: Carlo is unlucky yet again and sees something he shouldn't have seen, Rodrigo is a slut and we adore him, and Philip is secretly soft for one person and one person only.
Relationships: Carlo/Rodrigo (past), Philippe II | Filippo II/Rodrigue | Rodrigo (Don Carlos)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	ripongo il cor nella leal tua man

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my dearest friend Caro for holding my hand through this and reassuring me that this fic is, and I quote, "problematic, but in a good way." <3  
> And thanks to @Vera_dAuriac for proposing that deal because otherwise I wouldn't have started writing this.  
> The fic references some moments from the play because for some reason I decided to come up with my own timeline where play events and opera events coexist. I think it works well in both verses though!

Carlo didn’t mean to do it, didn’t mean to offend his friend but reason abandoned him when he heard Eboli throw that title at Rodrigo. _The King’s confidant…_ the words haunt him; but more than that he’s bothered by the expression on Posa’s face when Carlo expressed his doubts about him. Carlo paces back and forth along the alley, deaf to the gentle noise of the fountain. No, Rodrigo didn’t deserve his mistrust. Hasn’t he been his most trusted friend, his loyal companion, _his_ confidant since they were children? What does it matter if they were separated these past few years? Carlo knows Rodrigo’s heart is still as true as it was when they were young boys. 

Circumstances have kept them apart after they said their goodbyes at Alcala. Gone were the warm summer nights of whispered confessions, lingering kisses, and long explorations. As much as his thoughts have been consumed by Elisabeth, Carlo has to admit he misses their encounters, he misses the finger pressed against his lips, the warning to keep quiet breathed into his ear, quick fumbling with each other’s clothes.  
The Infant knows the words exchanged at San Yuste didn’t mean much. For all his confessions of love, Posa would only dare to be his friend now, out of respect to him and Elisabeth. No, Rodrigo has always been his truest friend. And even if he spoke with the King, even if Philip placed his trust in Posa, it doesn’t necessarily mean Rodrigo is lost to him, does it? He has always known Rodrigo to be a trustworthy and honorable man. He will not betray Carlo, and as for the Princess, well, she could’ve easily misheard everything.

And yet, something in Eboli’s voice implied there was more to Rodrgio’s and Philip’s relationship. Carlo’s mind circles back to Rodrigo’s expression when the subject of the King was brought up. He can’t seem to forget the way Posa flinched when Eboli mentioned Philip, the way his eyes widened and grimace twisted his beautiful features when Carlo questioned him. Nothing in his countenance spoke of guilt, only of his immense discomfort with the idea of belonging to Philip. He didn’t even deny having spoken to the King. He merely asked if Carlo suspected him of anything, and by God, no, Carlo doesn’t. He will not insult Rodrigo so. Posa deserves his apology, and he will have it. Carlo turns and walks fast towards the palace, gravel crunching under his boots, the warm breeze playing with his hair. It is late but Rodrigo and Eboli left not a half-hour ago – he hopes to find his friend still awake. 

Carlo’s footsteps echo on the cold floor as he quickly makes his way up the stone steps and turns into the hall leading to Rodrigo’s chambers. He walks fast, trying to stay as quiet as possible and keep to the shadows. He can’t risk running into anyone right now, especially not Philip. Carlo is very well aware of his father’s insomnia; he would not want to meet Philip on one of his midnight walks.

The silence around him is deafening; even his footsteps are now muffled by the carpet. Usually, Carlo would welcome the stillness of the night, find peace in it. Now, however, inside the oppressive walls of the palace, he feels on edge, almost expecting something to break his solitude at any time.  
A crash resounds through the hall and Carlo jumps, his hand flying to the sword at his side. He stops and almost presses into the wall, trying to catch his breath and willing his heart to stop pounding.

The sound doesn’t repeat, and Carlo moves again, trying to get closer to Rodrigo’s chambers as quick as possible. He is almost certain the noise came from inside. Rodrigo has been involved in dangerous plots, and it’s not unlikely that some of it caught up with him. Even if he’s gained Philip’s trust by now, he’s not safe. On the contrary – Carlo suspects his father’s anger would be even stronger, now that Posa is his close advisor. Carlo doesn’t trust his father, especially when it comes to Rodrigo.  
Hand still on the sword, he creeps closer and notices the door has been left ajar. It’s only a little crack but he reckons it’s enough to see through. Uncharacteristically cautious, Carlo peers inside before flying in with his sword at the ready – he needs to know precisely what’s going on, how many of them there are. The room is mostly drowning in shadows despite the lit candles. At first it appears empty, save for a big desk in the middle and an overturned chair near the wall. After a moment of listening attentively he realizes that whatever is going on inside, it doesn’t sound like a fight at all – what he hears are soft sighs and groans of pleasure.

Oh. Carlo wasn’t aware Rodrigo had any …arrangements this evening. But since his friend is not in any sort of danger and obviously occupied, Carlo should leave and come tomorrow. He’s about to turn when the people in the room move into his line of sight. Rodrigo leans against the desk and another man crowds him in, cupping Posa’s face in both palms and kissing him deeply. That surprises Carlo - he didn’t know Rodrigo still took male lovers. Carlo didn’t expect him to but then again, considering they haven’t been together since before that fateful day in Fontainebleau, it’s understandable that Rodrigo would want someone else. It’s none of Carlo’s business, really, even if he feels a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Rodrigo with other people. Speaking of which – who is this? Carlo can’t see his face - it’s currently buried in Rodrigo’s neck, pressing gentle kisses there, making Posa’s breath hitch and his eyes flutter shut. The simple black robe around his shoulders isn’t much to go by but Carlo knows he’s a nobleman. Perhaps someone from the grandees? Rodrigo would not be so relaxed with a stranger, and he and Lerma have always been close, after all. But no, this man’s hair is greying, that would make him older than Count Lerma. That’s when Rodrigo’s lover raises his head, soft candlelight illuminating his features, and Carlo feels his blood freeze. A gasp claws its way out of his lungs and dies in his throat.

Philip’s face is full of adoration as he draws Rodrigo close and claims his lips. Carlo watches his friend kiss his father, hears their sighs and the rustle of clothing as they try to press closer together. He feels feverish, cold sweat breaks out on his forehead, his clothes suddenly are too hot, too tight. Carlo sees Rodrigo’s hands wind around Philip’s neck, searches his face for any sign of pain or discomfort or disgust but all he sees is pleasure. He sees Philip’s hands tangle into Rodrigo’s hair, cup his jaw, caress his waist. Rodrigo’s low groans remind Carlo painfully of the nights they’ve spent together as young boys. He still remembers Rodrigo’s kisses, the sensation of his hands on his body, how he felt inside him. He recalls that feeling perfectly and warmth settles in his belly at the thought. He adjusts himself and shifts into a more comfortable position, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. He’s torn between wanting to run and never lay eyes upon either of them again and wanting to stay and drink it all in. If he’s honest with himself, Carlo knows he’s made his choice the second he recognized his father and didn’t bolt.

When the men pull apart Carlo sees Philip smile and feels an overwhelming urge to rush into the room and, and, and… He has not decided yet what he wants to do; he only knows he’s full of rage and jealousy. He isn’t even sure towards whom. Towards Philip? For taking his friend from him? Because that’s exactly what Philip would do, isn’t it? As if stealing the woman Carlo loves wasn’t enough, he took the man he loves too, as an additional blow. But Rodrigo – how could he? Being forced to work for the King to help their cause is one thing. Doing this – whatever this is (Rodrigo’s hand has moved below Philip’s waist) – is completely different.  
Philip throws his head back, Rodrigo’s name on his lips, and Carlo has never wanted to strangle his father more. He dares..? His lips aren’t worthy of touching that name. Posa is too honest, too perfect, too pure for him.  
_But is he,_ a snide, treacherous voice whispers in his head. Is his friend really as pure as Carlo imagined him to be? Had he heard from someone else that Rodrigo had given himself to the King, he would’ve assumed he’d done it out of duty. But this scene in front of him – the look of pure bliss on Rodrigo’s face, his relaxed frame in Philip’s arms – cannot make him believe this is unwilling participation. He’s been with Rodrigo too many times not to know how pleasure looks on his face. Even from his spot, Carlo can see that Rodrigo is enjoying himself; it fills him with misery and a strange desire to be in that room.  
Now Carlo sees that he mistook Rodrigo’s shame for discomfort. He wasn’t uncomfortable with the idea of being close with the King, no, what made him flinch and back away was the thought of Carlo possibly knowing about this. Well, now he does and Philip managed to win, once again.

Another person lost to him, his only friend taken by his father. He almost laughs. That’s some luck, to have that experience twice in his life. However, this is entirely different from when he found out Elisabeth was lost to him. There’s no envy in his heart when he sees Elisabeth with his father, although he reckons Philip feels something for her in his twisted way. But the rage filling him as he watches Rodrigo and Philip together is completely different – there’s hurt there, there’s jealousy there, there’s bewilderment at Rodrigo’s behaviour. He envies Rodrigo Philip’s love, and he understands it – who wouldn’t love Posa? But he’s been longing for Philip’s approval, his affection for as long as he can remember, and to see that love given to someone else – his closest friend, in fact – hurts more than he thought possible. Is this to whom he entrusted his life? This man now writhing in Philip’s arms? In that case, he’s lost, utterly lost.

Philip holds Rodrigo close, grinding into his hand, eyes full of love as he looks at the Marquis. With a twinge of pain, Carlo realizes his father has never looked at him the same way. Philip’s face is alight with tenderness and for one long horrifying moment, Carlo despises Rodrigo for stealing his father’s affection from him. Why should he be the one to whom Philip opens his heart? Why is his son not enough? Hasn’t Carlo repeatedly asked for his love? Wasn’t it just yesterday that he cried and begged on his knees for Philip to trust him? Carlo winces, remembering his dry dismissal.  
Once again Carlo is confronted with the bitter fact that he’s spent his entire life waiting for his father to love him, only for him to be distant and aloof, to be met with cold stares and creasing forehead. He has spent so long trying to win Philip’s love, and Rodrigo only spoke to him once – once! – and Philip has already confided in him more than he ever did in his own son.  
Carlo watches his father hungrily. He has never seen that expression on his face, but he knows the King absolutely adores Rodrigo. What wouldn’t he give for half, even quarter of that affection from Philip!

Rodrigo’s hand must’ve done something Carlo can’t see because Philip moans and drops his head to Posa’s shoulder, facing the door. Carlo feels his knuckles whiten as his hand clenches into a fist. He knows he should move. He should run, really, because the King only needs to raise his eyes a little to notice someone lurking outside. Carlo doesn’t dare to imagine what Philip would do if he discovered him, and yet, he finds himself rooted to the spot. He watches Philip’s face eagerly, drinks in the fondness and warmth displayed there. He has to take it in and remember because he will never get another opportunity to see his father so completely open, so vulnerable and loving. Philip will never wear that expression in his presence. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. A completely new side of his father has opened to him – he has only known Philip as cold and distant before, albeit passionate in his anger. He has only known the monarch. What he sees now is a man who longs for another human being, a man (who would’ve thought) capable of warmth, a tender and affectionate lover. Carlo has seen that proud and cold façade drop. For a moment Carlo even forgets he’s watching the monarch, his father. He looks so human, so ordinarily in love it hurts to look upon.  
The awareness that he’s witnessing something so secret and intimate thrills Carlo to the bone and fills him with terrible sadness and misery. This side of Philip is something only Rodrigo has seen and the knowledge of his father trusting Posa enough to be so vulnerable when he seemed so disgusted by Carlo’s love is hard to stomach.

Carlo is broken out of his thoughts by sudden movement in the room. Philip has straightened and moved away from Rodrigo, and Posa is left all but perched on the desk, disheveled, breathing heavily. Warm light illuminates him, and Carlo sees that Rodrigo is a mess, a beautiful mess. His lips are glistening, his clothes crumpled, his long hair messed up from Philip running his hands through it. Carlo misses the days when he could get Rodrigo to that state. He misses it to the point of physical ache. Rodrigo, unlike his hapless friend, doesn’t seem to be bothered by anything. He’s smiling, and it’s so genuinely happy, the Infant feels a new surge of anger. His Rodrigo is so beautiful like this, but that special brilliance is not for Carlo, it’s for his father. Then, for one second Rodrigo’s smile falters, his expression becomes more guarded, and Carlo leans forward hopefully, his nose almost touching the door. Alas, it must’ve been a trick of the light, because moments later, Posa’s face returns to the previous radiance, his smile shining for Philip and Philip alone. Just then, the King steps into Carlo’s field of vision again. He puts a small vial on the desk and turns to Rodrigo, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him close.

He slowly peels Rodrigo out of his clothes, and Carlo does not need light to see Rodrigo’s body perfectly. The King bows his head to Rodrigo’s shoulder – Carlo knows he is kissing the scar from that time Rodrigo fell off a horse as a boy. Philip runs his fingers down Posa’s chest – Carlo can feel the hair there and see the birthmark right over Rodrigo’s heart. Rodrigo looks up at the King, and Carlo knows he sees the creases on Philip’s forehead, crow’s feet around his eyes, and grey hairs in his beard.

The last thing Carlo sees before he flees is his father sinking to his knees in front of Rodrigo. Posa’s eyes widen, and his hand comes up to rest on Philip’s shoulder (not quite daring to touch his hair). Philip’s name, whispered with urgency, reaches his ears, and Carlo recoils from the door. He runs and runs and doesn’t stop until he’s safe within his chambers. There he collapses against the door, breathing heavily, his only company being an erection he will desperately ignore and darkness which he will welcome like a dear friend and trust to hide his tears.


End file.
